


Claws (no soft fingertips)

by neverminetohold



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sparkbond, h/c, slash (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being left for death on a battlefield, a fool still hopes. But the Autobots are getting closer. That sound – is that the transformation of a friend or foe? A claw grips his wing...</p><p>Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claws (no soft fingertips)

The impact tore a screech from Starscream’s vocalizer.

Sand exploded all around him and a dust cloud rose to the clear sky, marking his crash-site for all foes to see. His vision was instantly taken over by more and more warnings in glaring Cybertronian symbols.

Starscream picked some up with a fleeting, wavering glance: Weapon systems disabled, torn wing, busted energon supply lines – he could feel the trickle of hot liquid were it didn’t belong.

He was too dazed and literally rattled to wrap his processor around those information’s. But he tasted thick, sticky energon on his glossa. That alone did an adequate job to summarize his current predicament.

Blistering hot energy discharged from his null rays, the system overloading; charring his gray armor plates. Starscream reacted too slowly, taking more damage to his left arm, but managed, in the end, to patch the order for emergency shut down through.

His awareness dimmed further, shrinking to the glaring sun, the cloudless sky – flying would be a pleasure now – and too much sand; grinding in every gap and seam.

Starscream’s spark pulsed heavily, almost laboring, sending rattling vibrations up and down his frame. It took over almost all of his senses, since most of his external sensor net was fried – or reporting gibberish input.

Starscream could not transform. Could not even so much as get up under his own power. He felt helpless – he hated it. Only one being was allowed to instill that feeling in him.

Along with so many others, good and bad...

But that mech was lost to him, taking one half of Starscream’s spark with him. It was a long time ago and after millennia of being separated, he was truly and undeniably a fool to still... _hope_.

But he did.

_Why?_

He was alone, vulnerable, abandoned without second thought. Lying on the desolate battlefield, in the looming shadow of the Great Pyramid of Giza. His fellow Decepticons were either retreating or littering the dunes as pieces of scrapmetal...

Starscream could not fathom why that thought left him so bitter; it was most illogical. He himself would not act any differently, - take advantage, leave behind, better them than him -, he had to have expected it.

Starscream spat a mouthful of slimy energon in the sand and tried to shift, just an inch, to get at least one intake free from the trillions of particles, which tried to clog his vents. Failing that, he gulped in air, trying to aid his defect cooling system.

A blib appeared on his radar, indicating that the Autobot scum was getting closer to his position...

An agonized scream, hollow and static, was carried to Starscream’s audios. It was too disrupted to identify the dying mech and cut off abruptly. – Another Decepticon lost to their cause... But did it matter?

It shouldn’t, not to a off-lining mech, not to an Air Commander torn from the sky by fleshling maggots. Not when the more important half of him had died millennia ago, in that moment of separation, back on Cybertron.

Maybe he had really outlived his usefulness.

Maybe coward was more of an apt description than he cared to admit.

Starscream felt a strange calm settle over him, radiating from his spark chamber, lulling him in a semi-stupor of acceptance.

Even more blibs registered now, this time the readings represented the surviving forces of the NEST soldiers.

That organic waste of life...

Suddenly Starscream lurched and purged his tank in an agonizing heave; the liquid burning acidly up through his refuel-tube. He struggled for air, feeling more disoriented by the astrosecond. His helm lolled to the side and now sand was all that his dimmed optics could perceive. It was to be expected, as he lay half buried in the crater his frame had created on impact.

Without warning, the yellow-white particles were lifted into the air, carried up and battered around in a gust of wind. Starscream could not hear anything aside from the howling, but as it died away, the sounds of transformation rang clearly in the new stillness.

It was a small favor, but at least he would not be off-lined by one of those human creatures...

A clawed servo grabbed the edge of his right wing, seemingly out of nowhere to his befuddled sensors. A dull screech was torn from Starscream’s vocalizer, as the sensitive structure was crushed. His body was pulled upright, the tight grip used as leverage, till he was swaying on his pedes like a puppet on its strings.

This precarious balance lasted only mere astroseconds, before he tumbled backwards with a groan. His fall was stopped short by the sturdy frame of his tormentor, standing right behind him. Their plating scraped together, creating tiny sparks. A strong arm, its coiled musculature brimming, wrapped around Starscream’s midsection, stopping him from sliding down. It was just as well since otherwise, he would have ended up on the ground, in a heap of dented, leaking metal.

“So weak, Starscream. Coming back for you was a waste of time,” seethed a voice in close proximity to his audios; clearly disgusted.

A fool to cling to hope...

“Megatron?”

The question escaped Starscream’s damaged vocalizer in a distorted whisper; disbelief almost palpable. He tried to turn his helm, seeking visual clarification that his processor was not yet so far gone as to mock him with bittersweet, cruel delusions.

Shouts echoed in the distance, coming closer.

His support vanished without an answer, but a mere nano-klik later, Starscream could _feel_ the shifting and rearranging of Cybertronian alloys – the other had transformed, only an inch away from him.

The gracefully streamlined form of a jet – never crafted, only imagined – circled around Starscream’s wavering frame. The white-blue heat of powerful, yet soundless, engines narrowly avoided to make blistering contact.

“Get on, you fool.”

It took the impact of missiles, exploding in a booming burst of heat, sand and dark smoke, to send Starscream staggering forward. It was almost impossible to find purchase on the sleek carbon hull and even worse to hoist himself up without the use of his left arm. But Starscream managed, miraculously.

He came to rest in an awkward sprawl, wedged between the cockpit and the matter-inversion generator, which jutted forward to end in the beak-like opening of Megatron’s tractor beam.

More missiles and grenades rained down around them, sending shock waves through the air and changing the pattern of the dunes.

“Hang on tight.”

The jet lunged forward, power unleashed, avoiding certain impact without losing speed, climbing higher and conquering the endless blue sky in the blink of an optic.

Starscream felt his mouthplates twist into something akin to a smile – this was home, leaving the shackles of gravity behind...

But he was tired. Maybe even so exhausted that repairs and recharge would not be able to fix it.

But Megatron came. – And he could have left, stealthily, after seeing the damage Starscream had sustained; he would never have known...

Instead, he carried him, taking such a great risk, with the Autobots and their human pets drawing ever closer...

They gained more speed. The air currents tore at Starscream’s frame, knocking into him with invisible force. He could feel the steady trickle of energon, scattering behind the jet; it drained him.

His additional bulk was nothing but a burden, increasing the drag and reaction time, disturbing maneuverability. – And it was only a matter of moments till air reinforcements would catch up with them...

Starscream’s system was flooded with warnings. His grip slipped from the tiny gap between the smooth armor plates. He had no strength left to hold on and Megatron, knowing this, would soon get rid off him; reaching the end of his sudden mercy.

“Fool!”

It was a vicious snarl, but welcome in its harsh familiarity. A fitting farewell, for them.

But instead of tossing him off, Megatron’s jet form slowed down, reducing the dizzying blur once more to a blue sky. As if that had been a signal, a formation of six F-22 Raptor’s descended upon them with a hail of projectiles.

And while Starscream’s damaged sensor net rendered him almost blind, Megatron had to have known how close they had gotten in this death chase...

Starscream started slipping to one side as the jet narrowly avoided two missiles. Detonating in mid-air, the heat wave dissolved the last traces of his silver paintjob into sizzling bubbles.

More attacks followed, whistling and howling in the rush of air, each one getting closer to hit its mark... Megatron dove into a sudden spin, tossing Starscream off during the first upward circle; corkscrewing tightly.

To Starscream, the ensuing fight was a dazed blur of colors and movements, his optics always too slow to catch up, while he spun around; falling to his demise.

It didn’t matter to him.

The important thing was that Megatron had snapped out of it just in time to save himself. He was needed. Without him, there was no hope for the Decepticons and now, with the Fallen gone and unable to get in their way, - they had once again a chance to win.

Starscream could hear the explosions, the petty noise of cracking human aircraft’s; their dying noises, ripped away by the wind and the discharged lightning’s from the jet’s wing-tips.

It was music, ending on a high note of destruction.

The impact, when it came, did not crush him. Starscream registered the fact with belated surprise – and slipped into a state somewhere between recharge, stasis-lock and looming extinction.

Weird, disconnected snapshots of data and images reached his consciousness:  
...  
... Megatron in jet form (beautiful perfection), somehow catching him...  
... a blue planet left behind...  
... earth, dust and sand, coming closer...  
... derivative hull, absorbing solar energy in colorful tendrils of light...  
... space: cold and dead and soundless...  
... fiery red heat shield, stretched too thin (my fault); almost dissolving...  
... home; not a place? (or was it?)...  
... a red planet; desert and rocks...  
... his spark throbs.  
...  
Calling.  
...  
Resonance.  
...  
Sharing.  
...  
Then nothing...  
...  
...  
...  
... only to resurface from the endless pit of darkness.

Starscream’s systems were a jumbled mess of deactivated and damaged component’s, drowning him in warnings, when they finally went online. But someone, most likely Megatron, had gone through the painstaking ordeal to repair him to a level that left him functioning within emergency parameters. – His spark won’t be extinguished.

Not this time.

Starscream is unable to identify how he feels in regard to everything that transpired; his processor is too cluttered up with conflicting data. But it is no strain on him to solve the mystery of his surroundings. – He would recognize them everywhere: The hollow clanking sounds, off in the distance, from the torn systems of a barely operating spacecraft... The stench of burst pods, leaking energon and the dead shells of starved hatchlings...

Starscream is ‘home.’ Back in their base on Mars, lying in an empty space, on a makeshift berth, surrounded by protoform-alloy, tools and med bay equipment.

“Affirmative,” droned a monotonous voice, coming from a terminal up ahead. – Soundwave. Megatron must be issuing orders for him to locate any survivors; calling them back to base.

And answer they will. And fight,- because he is the one they follow. Their Lord and Master. Nothing could change that.

“Don’t disappoint me with another delay.”

A curious silence darkened the atmosphere; then: “Inquiry: Megatron, repairs necessar-“

A vicious growl resounded, reverberating from the hull, followed by a diamond-sharp claw, descending with too much force on a control panel. Something splintered and the transmission was cut off.

Heavy footsteps drew close, sending painful vibrations through Starscream’s frame, centering on his sensitive, recently welded wing. Megatron entered his field of vision and inadvertently, a shuddering gust of air left his vents, as Starscream took the sight in: The greater part of Megatron’s mouthplate was gone; traces of dried energon stained his throat and upper body. – It made him wonder how he had managed to speak so clearly. His right arm was missing most of its armor, exposing delicate wiring, gears and supply lines. One optic was broken, a black hole, constantly leaking clear fluids.

Megatron’s whole frame was charred, dented, in short: more banged up than Starscream could remember to have seen before...

“Starscream,” growled the object of his staring. But then, to his shock, Megatron _snorted_ in wry amusement: “You look far worse, my little Seeker.”

This was horribly familiar, lost in the past as it was.

“I missed you,” blurted Starscream, for once not fearing the agonizing repercussions of speaking his mind freely. – Because here, right in front of him, was a fleeting glimpse of the mech carrying the other half of his spark, as he knew he did in turn.

Later, he would think about risks and foolishness and the weird glitches a near death experience can cause in a Cybertronian. – Or maybe not.

Megatron’s frame dwarfed him, casting him in a dark shadow. Ironically, that only served to highlight Starscream’s own vulnerability – his wings trapped under his own weight; lying down.

Knowing Megatron for eons – as the brother of Optimus Prime, the Lord High Protector, the leader of the Decepticons, his lost spark-bonded – he still could not decipher the look one red optic gave him.

Megatron did not react for a long moment; merely observing. But then, he crouched down stiffly, joints grinding together in all the wrong places, and reached for him.

Starscream cringed away, guided by an instinct to protect his cockpit. The Cybertronian alloy mimicking ‘glass’ was, after all, his greatest weakness – and already cracked.

Something flashed over Megatron’s damaged faceplate, there and gone too fast to be seen clearly. Without a word he stood and turned away, gathering the necessary equipment to see to his own repairs.

Starscream watched and cursed his processor for being so slowed down that he could not, for the life of him, figure out what had just happened.

...  
...  
...

Much later, when Megatron had ended up in deep recharge, leaning at the makeshift berth, Starscream noticed something: A whole network of scars crisscrossed his frame, centering on his damaged parts, but being much more recently acquired.

He recognized them from many battlefields, many nights, many moments, - this time, they resulted from being repaired by Megatron’s servos. No matter how careful - or even _gentle_ – he touched something, his claws always left a mark...

... painful reminder.  
... signs of power.  
....mark of something else, heavily guarded; even back then.

Starscream contemplated this, his spark throbbing again. He inched closer to the still form to his right, using what limited mobility he had left. He tried to shift some of his armor but even he didn’t know whether he did it to fit better or to shield his vital parts, should Megatron wake up and lash out violently...

Maybe a bit of both.

After a moment of expecting the worst, Starscream dared to relax, lowering his helm to Megatron’s warm, broad shoulderplate. The scent, oil and dried energon and something else without name, was familiar. As were the feeling and the faint noises of reduced systems. – It was... soothing and bittersweet.

Out of nowhere, the tip of one clawed digit caressed the ‘glass’ of Starscream’s cockpit, right over the center of his calling spark, making him jerk in surprise.

“Fool,” muttered Megatron, still half in recharge.

To the Seeker it sounded like the most affectionate thing possible.

...  
...  
...

The moment that followed, the faint answer to a call, creating a resonance, was perfection. The promise of a future, reaching beyond the cause of the Decepticons.

...  
...  
...

The only drawback to perfection was its fleetingness. It could end quickly, especially between the two of them.

Knowing this, Starscream relished the moment, curled up in Megatron’s arms. – And he hoped, like a fool, because it had served him well.

For them, eternity was within reach.

  
End


End file.
